


Benedict

by canadino



Category: Gintama
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-21 08:23:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4822055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canadino/pseuds/canadino
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A two-faced Sakamoto and a man with the childish fear of being alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Benedict

Sakamoto was a pacifist because he was a weak fighter. To his credit, he wasn’t actually shabby, he held his own in a fight; but in comparison, he wasn’t as fast as Gintoki or as shrewd as Katsura or as reckless as Takasugi. Most damning of all, he put his own self first. Takasugi would mutter under his breath that it was most typical of a merchant’s son, but Gintoki thought Sakamoto just didn’t bother lying about it. “Fighting’s no good,” Sakamoto said wisely, stepping between Gintoki and Takasugi during one of their cat fights where they went fangs bared at each other’s necks. “If either of you were to break your arms or your legs, think about that drop in utility. You couldn’t even keep yourself alive.”  
“If you don’t like fighting, then why are you here?” Takasugi spat, angry and wanting someone to take it out on. 

“Gold rushes and wars,” Sakamoto said, forming a circle - an invisible coin - with his index finger and thumb. “With a good brain, those two things are the things that can make a man the most money.” Such talk made Takasugi even angrier, spewing poison about the merchant class and the types of people devoid of morality who only chased after coin. Sakamoto paid off the cook to keep Takasugi’s rations from him, and it wasn’t until Takasugi used the last of his own war wages to pay Sakamoto to put in a word for him did he finally eat again. Sakamoto smiled to himself even when no one was looking, but his eyes were cold and it was the only thing he couldn’t hide behind a laugh. Gintoki hated him, or he thought he did. 

“Hey,” Sakamoto said from across the clearing. He was calculating Gintoki’s present worth and he tended to avoid meeting eyes with people because it was obvious (”I need something to hide my eyes,” he said once while playing dice. “I give everything away and charity’s the last thing I need.”). “You think you’re hard to win over, but you’re not so hard after all.”

“What kind of bullshit are you trying to sell me now?” Gintoki asked. But after a few dinners where Sakamoto offered him seconds out of his own bowl and helped him wash the blood out of his leather guards, Gintoki found himself standing at the end of the space Sakamoto had established as his temporary bed for the night. Sakamoto’s teeth were pearly white in the dark but his eyes were harder to see. 

“I’m probably going to desert soon,” Sakamoto told him. He had a general smile on his face. “The war’s losing value for me. Can’t turn a profit when there are less wallets to pull out. You know what’s endless? Space, and that’s my next frontier.” 

Gintoki ignored him, and he kept his eyes closed and pretended he was asleep, but Sakamoto put a hand on his knee and Gintoki opened his eyes again. 

“Come with me,” Sakamoto said, but Gintoki knew the sort of life that meant. He had no background or business dealing with the sort of work Sakamoto liked and he had no interest or ability to drive ships that moved off the ground. It was the life of a kept man, one who wandered the ship and went to bed whenever Sakamoto beckoned him. The war was souring his tongue, but that kind of fate felt even more worthless. 

“No,” Gintoki said, and Sakamoto squeezed his knee. That night, Sakamoto pushed him away. A few nights later, Sakamoto was gone. 

[=]

The beauty of women of the night came from their indifference. Their backgrounds meant nothing to the men who came to them, and likewise, what the men did in the day and who they were before were irrelevant. If he had a steady girl, she’d know about the nights he woke up, a scream in his mouth and his clothes soaked through with sweat. She’d know that if he saw too much blood for too long, his knees would go weak and he’d lash out. Publicly, Gintoki was one-note and stable, but behind closed doors he was temperamental and unpredictable. Some nights he wanted someone to hold close until way past the sun rose, and others he wanted nothing to do with another human being and he’d draw blood - the blood that also made him queasy - to make sure they stayed away. Kagura and Shinpachi, gems and blessings that they were, knew when they were not to cross the threshold of his bedroom and what sort of behavioral indicators meant they were to keep their distance. Being with someone was different. Such people were meant to get up and in your face and share a portion of the burden but it was something Gintoki was selfish about. 

Katsura - and Takasugi, that elusive fish after the war - were like blood brothers to him. They would know about those episodes and knew how to treat him, but the thought of holding them was wrong, taboo. He knew what their voices sounded like when they were changing and they knew how he grit his teeth when he was fighting through his growing pains. After the war and the Purge, there weren’t that many men alive who knew about what the dull sound of metal entering something soft and fleshy could do to a man. 

The problem with Sakamoto was that his eyes were always turned to the sky and the stars. There was some greater calling, some diamond in the sky that held his attention. Even after he’d gotten himself sunglasses, black and darker than pitch so no one could see the way his eyes only glowed when he was about to complete a deal, Sakamoto’s attention was somewhere behind your shoulder. Sometimes, Gintoki wondered if Sakamoto was only going through the motions and sex was just another thing keeping him from visiting the bank, like eating and sleeping. Once, when they were hunkered down in a trench and hiding from the Amanto, Sakamoto told him - because damn, if death was around the corner there was nothing stopping him - that his parents wanted him to stay in Tosa and keep running their successful sake distillery. “I’m worth more than sake,” Sakamoto whispered. “I’m worth more than that tiny village. And I’m here to prove that.” 

Gintoki loved money too, but because now money was keeping him alive. Scavenging through corpses and looting from abandoned towns was no longer up with the times, so he needed a paycheck each month. He thought it was the sentiment that brought Sakamoto back to his door. His own net worth was minuscule, because Sakamoto had no investments in old war and fighting ability with his new guns and cannons. 

“Do you ever really look at me?” Gintoki asked. 

Sakamoto didn’t smoke traditional cigarettes because they cost a lot in the long run. He had an electronic cigarette that glowed whenever he inhaled. “What a stupid question, Kintoki! Of course I do.”

Gintoki closed his eyes. “What color are my eyes?”

The silence lasted for a beat longer than comfort allowed. “You’re Japanese,” Sakamoto said. “They’re brown, of course.” He laughed at the absurdity of the question. 

Gintoki opened his eyes again. “I don’t like to hear myself think,” he said. “But it happens when it gets too quiet around me.”

Sakamoto’s hand rested on his shoulder. “You could always come with me,” he said, but though age weened the lust from his offer, it was the sort of empty promise one made with an old friend that did not see often - haven’t seen you in so long, let’s make plans! Let’s catch up! I’m only in town for a few nights on business, so let’s have dinner one of those days! But when you parted ways, you breathed a sigh of relief that neither of you had each other’s contact numbers and the city was big enough to hide you. 

“No,” Gintoki said, and Sakamoto’s hand squeezed him and slipped away. When Gintoki woke up again, Sakamoto was gone, with no note or a rapidly fading scent.

**Author's Note:**

> The title was meant to be a reference to Benedict Arnold but not sure if there was any betrayal here...hmm. Thanks for reading and please leave a comment if you liked it!


End file.
